


Seeping Baby Man

by hexmaniacchoco



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Horror, Castiel in the Bunker, Demons, Dubious Science, Headcanon, Horror, Human Impala, M/M, Magical Accidents, Medical Inaccuracies, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Touching, Protective Castiel, Surgeons, Team Free Will, a headcanon about why they don't use certain options they've had before, sam and dean make a terrible mistake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-17 16:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12369405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexmaniacchoco/pseuds/hexmaniacchoco
Summary: A small collection of three terribly written, short, horror-themed fics. (And when I say "terribly written", I don't mean in the enjoyable way. I mean in the "you'll regret having spent the thirty something minutes on this" way. You've been warned.)





	1. Seeping Baby Man

“Shit, Dean, I think it’s getting closer,” Sam whispered in a panic, heart racing as he listened to the unsteady wheezing that was getting louder by the second. Dean stayed quiet and still.  
  
Cas took a look around the corner for them, pulling back and signaling them to move away at the sight of a long, swollen arm appearing in a nearby doorway. They headed a little further down the hall they were in, and ducked inside one of the rooms, closing the door softly. Cas turned sharply to the two brothers. “How did this even happen?” he asked them, making sure to keep his voice down.  
  
Dean looked away and bit his lip. “It was an accident…” he answered bitterly.  
  
“That’s not an answer to my question, Dean.”  
  
Sam gave his brother a pitying look before turning to Cas. “We… we were trying to get at this witch’s grimoire, and he apparently had this sort of… security system in place…” he trailed off.  
  
Cas looked between them. “And this… security system, it--”  
  
“It cast some random spell from the thing,” Dean interrupted. He looked down again and continued. “We were sitting in the Impala when it happened, and wouldn’t you know it the… the spell it decided to cast was…”  
  
“An anthropomorphizing spell,” Cas finished for him.  
  
Sam stepped forward, and couldn’t help the volume of his voice raising a little in his panic. “Please, tell us you can help us reverse it,” he pleaded.  
  
Cas sighed. “I can...try. This is something that was always more Gabriel or Balthazar’s strength than mine, but I’ll see what I can do.”  
  
For the first time since this incident started, hope flashed through Dean’s eyes. That hope soon turned into fear and worry as they realized during the lull in conversation that the wheezing was now right outside the door. They moved to the back of the room as the doorknob jiggled first, and then turned, the door opening as it did.  
  
There in the doorway stood a frighteningly tall thing, so tall the top of the doorframe only came up to its chest. It bent down to step through the door, and its disproportionately long arms dragged on the ground. Halfway through, it had a small coughing fit, hacking up a greasy red substance and silver ball bearings all over the floor. It stood again, now fully in the room. It had smaller versions of the headlights for eyes and no nose, and its mouth hung open grotesquely as if it didn't have the muscles necessary to close it, teeth bared for lack of any lips, as it made its terrible wheezing sound. That sound would haunt their dreams.   
  
“I’m sorry, Baby,” Dean suddenly said, his composure beginning to crack along with his voice. He took a step forward, but Cas held an arm out to stop him. Dean stared helplessly as his beloved car drew closer. “Cas is gonna’ get you back to normal, ok?”  
  
Baby dragged its rubber foot forward, closer to the three people now backed against the wall. The treading pricked out of its legs like short, thick, rubber hairs. Bits of metal stuck out of its skin in places. The side mirrors poked out of its mangled looking shoulders at odd angles. As it got closer, they noticed a clear, oily liquid dripping from its skin, and what looked like blood dribbling from its mouth. It somehow opened its mouth even more horrifyingly wider, as if it were trying to speak, but the only noise that came out was a terrifying mix between the familiar roar of Baby’s engine and a high-pitched shriek.  
  
Sam and Dean both covered their ears, watching fearfully as it lowered its head toward them and Cas reached up to place his hand on its forehead.  
  
“Close your eyes, just in case,” he told them. He waited a second for them to do so, and then a brilliant light filled the room.  
  
When they opened their eyes again, Baby was nowhere to be found, and Cas was collapsed on the floor.  
  
“Cas!” Dean shouted, dropping down next to him to make sure he was ok. Sam got down as well, and helped Dean lift him up when he stirred.  
  
“The Impala should be a car again,” he told them, stumbling a little as he stood and they let go of him. “I did my best to send her to the garage.” Dean pulled him into a tight hug.   
  
“Thank you Cas, so freaking much.”  
  
Sam joined the hug as well. “We seriously had no idea what to do with that,” he said, his voice quavering a little.  
  
Cas hugged them both back, and after Sam and Dean recovered from the sight of their car in a grotesque humanoid form, they went to check the garage to make sure Cas’ reversal of the spell had gone right. They were relieved to see it had, spotting Baby sitting in her usual spot as if nothing had happened. And none of them ever spoke about it again.


	2. Uncristible

“What are we supposed to do?” Sam asked his brother from the motel bed opposite him, his head against his hand.  
  
Dean was on his back with his eyes closed, arms resting behind his head. He wasn’t really in the mood to talk, but he knew Sam well enough that he wasn’t going to get out of this particular conversation so easily. He sighed and sat up. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I guess we’ll deal with it as we go.”  
  
Sam glared at him. “We can’t just sit and do nothing, Dean. This is _our_ fault.”  
  
Dean returned his glare with equal force. “Yeah well for right now there ain’t anything we _can_ do, Sam. Unless you have some amazing 3-step for dealing with a shit ton of demons, then the only option we have right now is to handle ‘em when we see ‘em,” he scoffed.  
  
Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said. He kicked off his shoes and got under the covers. “I say tomorrow we go out and start looking for some demons to exorcise. It’s not like we don’t have anything that can help us. We still have ‘christo’, for example.”  
  
Dean laid back down as well. He rolled over to turn off his lamp, and then tucked his arm under his pillow. Sam had a point. Saying “christo” was supposed to reveal any demon for what they really were. They couldn’t stand the name so much they’d lose control of their vessel and their eyes would go black. They could probably trap them and exorcise them easily enough, but just finding them was half the battle, and “christo” took care of that. “We’ll give it a try,” he replied. “Maybe we’ll start at the diner. Of course we’re gonna have to figure out some kinda plan. We can’t just go up to people telling them ‘christo’ or they’ll lock us up. Again.”  
  
Sam didn’t answer him. Dean listened closely and heard soft snoring sounds coming from the other bed, telling him Sam had fallen asleep. He shook his head and readjusted his pillow, and tried to fall asleep as well.

* * *

  
They woke up early the next morning, and after showering and getting dressed, headed over to the diner that was around the corner from their motel. On the way there, they discussed how they were going to trap the demons once they found them. They figured placing devil’s traps in a few key spots and getting the demons to flee in the direction of them would be a decent first plan. Once one was trapped it was just a matter of reciting the exorcism.  
  
The diner was busy that day, so when they arrived they had to wait a few minutes to be seated. Eventually, they were shown to a small booth in the corner.  
  
“Can I start you boys off with anything?” the waitress asked them.  
  
“Just some coffee, thanks,” Dean answered. She smiled at him so he winked in return.  
  
“Same for me, please,” Sam told her. He gave Dean an unhappy look. Dean just shrugged as the waitress left to get their coffee.  
  
“Hey, I got a plan,” Dean defended.  
  
Sam looked skeptical, but didn’t have time to ask when the waitress returned with their coffee. He looked at her with some surprise. “That was fast.”  
  
Still smiling, she pointed behind her. “Coffee pot’s just over there. Either of you know what you want to order?” she asked, looking between them both.  
  
“I have an idea,” Dean replied, a grin on his own face now. He glanced at her name tag. “Sandy.”  
  
Sandy laughed. “Aww, you’re cute. What can I get for you?”  
  
“I’ll have a uh… a monte cristo, if you got ‘em,” Dean told her. He and his brother watched her carefully, paying special attention to her eyes, but they didn’t turn black and she didn’t react in the slightest outside of looking confused.  
  
“We don’t… really serve those for breakfast...but I might be able to get them to make you one if it’s what you’ve really got a taste for,” she said, uncertain but amused.  
  
Dean shot his brother a brief smirk. He turned back to Sandy. “Nah, not really. Just sounded good at the moment. I’ll have the breakfast platter, extra bacon,” he said.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, and Sandy turned to him to ask his order. “And you, sir?”  
  
“Uh, french toast, please. Thanks,” he answered.  
  
“Alright, I’ll be back with your orders as soon as they’re done,” she said, smiling at them again before turning and heading over to the kitchen.  
  
Sam smiled at her, waiting until she was further, before turning back to Dean and frowning. “Really, Dean? That’s your plan?”  
  
“It worked, didn’t it? She’s not a demon, thinks I’m cute. This could turn out to be a good evening,” Dean replied casually. He stretched his arms out and looked past Sam to watch Sandy taking orders from customers at the other end of the diner.  
  
“It’s morning.”  
  
Dean looked back to Sam, one eyebrow cocked. “Yeah, I know.”  
  
Sam thinned his lips at Dean. “Ok well, we can’t just go around telling people ‘christo’ or asking for the sandwich, so unless we’re only checking cafes and diners what’s our other plan?” he asked.  
  
Dean stopped watching Sandy and looked at Sam. “What?”  
  
“Our other plan! To flush out demons?” Sam repeated, gesturing impatiently at Dean.  
  
“I don’t know, Sam. I don’t think it’s gonna be as simple as going through crowds playing Where’s Demonic Waldo,” Dean answered.  
  
Sam sighed. “I know that, but I mean if we have something as useful as this phrase, it just feels wrong not to take advantage of it as much as we can, however we can,” he said.  
  
Just then Sandy appeared at their table, carrying a tray with their orders and a small pot of maple syrup. “Here we are,” she said, putting their plates and the jar in front of them. She turned to leave, but then with a wide smile looked back and told them, “I’ll come back when you’re finished, but feel free to come find me if you need anything else.”  
  
“Uh, thanks. We will,” Sam answered. Dean nodded his head at her. With that, she turned and left.  
  
Dean looked down at his plate. “Dude, look at all this,” he said, admiring the large stack of bacon practically falling over onto the eggs and pancakes. He pointed at the stack. “You want any?”  
  
“Sure, I’ll have some, if not just to save you from yourself,” Sam quipped, reaching over and grabbing a few strips.  
  
“Alright, so let’s think,” Dean started, through a mouth full of bacon. “How’re we going to do this…?”  
  
Sam shrugged as he took a bite of his french toast. “I mean… if we were fast about it we probably could actually just walk around saying ‘christo’ to see if any nearby demon overhears it and reacts.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess. But that can’t be our only plan. The demons would catch on quick enough and honestly it sounds boring as hell to do every day.”  
  
Sam considered Dean’s reply over a sip of his coffee. “Ok, what about...What if we looked out for possible signs of demons, and then one person keeps an eye on the suspect while the other calls them under some kind of fake service and uses the word?”  
  
Dean’s mouth pulled to the side, not entirely sure about the idea but not dismissing it either. “Maybe, that could be something,” he said.  
  
They finished their breakfasts, going over various other ways in which they could put “christo” to work, stopping when Sandy returned with their bills.  
  
“Oh, we didn’t have them separate,” Sam informed her.  
  
“I know,” she said, as she walked away, tossing him a wink.  
  
Sam looked confused for a minute, before looking at his bill and noticing it was in fact for both of their orders. He looked back up at Dean.  
  
“Hey check this out, Sam,” Dean said happily, turning his own copy of the bill around to reveal a phone number.  
  
Sam turned his around to Dean with a smug look, showing he had the same number on his. Dean’s smile fell.  
  
“Yeah well she didn’t call you cute,” Dean grumbled.  
  
Sam just chuckled and pulled some cash out of his wallet to pay the bill and tip before leaving the diner. On the way out, Dean waved at Sandy and held up the bill with her number on it with a smile. She held her hand up to her ear like a phone, mouthing “call me”, and Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled him the rest of the way out of the diner.  
  
Once back at their motel room, they spent time going over more plans for finding and trapping demons, and did some extra research on them. They didn’t turn up anything particularly new, but it helped to go over all their information at once. Eventually, night fell, and Dean stood up from his chair where he’d been looking through their dad’s journal again.  
  
“Well Sammy, I think I’m going to uh, go do some different kind of research. You alright here?” he asked, pulling on his jacket.  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine here, Dean,” Sam answered, not looking up from his laptop.  
  
“Cool, don’t wait up,” Dean told him as he fished the Impala’s keys from his pocket and left out the door.

* * *

  
Dean pulled in on the crumbling driveway of a small but charming house set surprisingly far back from the street, nestled among the trees in the forest. The nearest neighbor looked to be about at least a couple hundred feet away. He was surprised that a smaller woman like Sandy would live by herself out here, but he figured the peace and quiet was what she was after. He walked up to the door and rang the bell. After a few moments, it opened. Sandy stood in the doorway, wearing a short black dress that hugged her body, and matching black heels.  
  
“Come on in.”  
  
She opened the door wider and spread her arm out invitingly. Dean stepped inside and looked around. It was a cute place, he thought. It had a comfortable atmosphere. He spotted a bottle of wine on the coffee table, and sure enough he found himself being led to the couch behind it. He looked back towards Sandy to appreciate her figure some more as he took a seat. This definitely was going to be a good evening.

* * *

  
Sam yawned and closed out of a particularly dry article about demonology he’d been mostly skimming through. There hadn’t been anything they didn’t already know, anyway. He looked at his watch. It was 2:30 in the morning. Dean had left several hours ago, and while he got the strong feeling his brother wasn’t going to be back until later that morning, he had an uneasy feeling. He’d be fine by himself, probably. He usually was. Unless he had terrible luck and somehow some powerful monster or demon found them. And he’d be on his own. Which he'd been on his own before and he could handle himself just fine. But what if it was another demon like Azazel…? He couldn’t have been the only one. What if more like him had escaped during the moments the gate was opened? But that would be ridiculous for them to show up on his doorstep right now. He'd expect that if he still had that rabbit's foot, but they destroyed that a while ago. He had no idea why he was suddenly becoming anxious, but he reminded himself that this wasn't any different from all the other nights he was by himself. Probably.  
  
A knock at his motel room door startled him out of his concerned reverie, and made his unease grow. Looking carefully at the door, he reached for his gun, glad it was nearby. Whoever was at the door knocked again.  
  
“Hello…?” Sam called out warily.  
  
Whoever it was didn’t reply, and instead knocked again. Sam let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and carefully moved toward the door with his gun half raised. “Hello? Who’s there?” he asked again. There was no reply. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, debating whether or not opening the door to check was a good idea. It probably wasn’t someone who needed help. But he didn’t know for sure. It could also be a trap. Readying his gun, he unlocked the door and pulled it open quickly. “Christo!” he shouted. He aimed his gun straight ahead in the same movement, but no one was there. Confused but cautious, he held his gun in place and slowly stepped out the door to check the area around it.  
  
That’s when the body fell on top of him.

* * *

  
Light jazz music filled the room as Dean leaned forward to refill Sandy and his own glasses. Sandy had moved closer to him on the couch, and she had her hand on his shoulder as she asked him about the line of work he was in. He told her some made up story about the FBI, and how he was on vacation with his brother right now and they’d been driving through the area. He thought it sounded cool but believable, and if the gleam in her eyes told him anything, so did she. The conversation quieted, and she leaned forward, moving her hand from his shoulder to the side of his face. He’d only been there a bit less than an hour. Things were moving faster than he expected, but he wasn’t about to complain. He turned to face her better and leaned in, brushing his lips against hers gently. She smiled, and then pulled him into a deep kiss, pushing him back onto the couch.  
  
“Hey lemme put my glass down first,” Dean laughed through the kiss.  
  
She let him up, and as he placed his glass on the table his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and saw a text from Sam reminding him about their check-out time the next morning. He closed the message and put his phone away, but when he turned back to the couch he saw Sandy had gotten up and was moving towards a room down the hall.  
  
“I thought we should take this somewhere a little more fun,” she told him. She disappeared into the room.  
  
Dean happily shrugged. “If you insist…”  
  
He got up and followed her into the room, and the moment he stepped through the doorway she came from his side and cuffed his hands behind his back.  
  
“Oh, you mean this kind of ‘fun’,” Dean remarked, turning around to face her.  
  
She grinned, and gestured to a chair at the side of the room. Dean went over to it and took a seat, and she moved his arms so the back of the chair came between them. She pulled a rope out of a bag sitting nearby the chair and got to work tying his legs together. She started chuckling to herself as she worked, and Dean drew his eyebrows together in confusion, chuckling along with her.  
  
“What’s so funny?” he asked.  
  
She looked up at him. “It’s just, I can’t believe you’re _actually_ letting me do this to you. Just like that,” she laughed. She stood reached around him to tie his hands to the chair in addition to them being cuffed.  
  
Dean was only more confused by the statement. “You uh, you usually get less adventurous partners or something…?”  
  
“You could say that…” she said. She blinked as she pulled the knot she was tying tighter, and her eyes flashed black.  
  
Dean’s face went pale. “You--”  
  
“Didn’t expect that, did you, Dean?” she taunted.  
  
“Back at the diner, you hadn’t possessed her yet, had you?” he asked, forcing the words through his teeth. A wave of guilt washed over him at the thought that some poor girl got possessed because she had flirted with him earlier.  
  
She scoffed. “Please. I’ve had this hot little meatsuit since…oh... I’d say 2 or 3 weeks now.”  
  
Dean glared at her. “You’re lying. Your eyes would’ve turned black if you’d been possessing her back when I placed my first order,” he spat.  
  
“You mean the _sandwich_?” she laughed. “Go on, say it.”  
  
“Christo.”  
  
She smirked at him, her eyes unchanging.  
  
Dean tried again. “Christo!”  
  
She leaned forward until she was right in his face. Dean hardened his glare. “ _Christo_ !” he shouted again. She pressed a soft kiss to his lips then backed up, moving back over to the bag she’d gotten the rope from and pulling out a knife.  
  
“This is the sort of ‘fun’ I meant, by the way.”

* * *

  
Sam groaned and pushed the man smelling of way too much cheap liquor off of him, and after a couple seconds sat up, rubbing his back. He checked the man’s pulse just in case, and sure enough he was alive. The man blinked his eyes open slowly, and looked first at Sam, then at their motel room.  
  
“...’s not my … room…” he slurred.  
  
Sam helped him up. “Here, I’ll help you back to your room,” he told him. He closed and locked the door and headed off to guide the drunk over to the front office so they could figure out which room he was supposed to be in. Once he had safely gotten him to the right room, Sam left to return to his and Dean’s room to get some sleep. As he turned the corner, he noticed the Impala parked outside. Finding it odd that his brother would get back so early, he rushed over to their room and hurried inside.  
  
“Dean?” he called out. He saw the bathroom door open and the light on and jogged toward it. There, he found Dean hunched over the sink, covered in blood and bruises and cuts. “Dean what happened to you?! Are you alright?!”  
  
Dean looked up at Sam. “Sandy… she was a demon,” he said.  
  
Sam didn’t want to believe it. “No… no she couldn’t have been. Dean, are you sure? We said ‘christo’ to her back at the diner, a-and--”  
  
“It doesn’t work,” Dean explained, interrupting Sam. He continued washing the cuts on his face, wincing as the soapy water burned them. “She told me the only demons that fear it are the lowest ranking of the lowest class. That demons like her, stronger demons that we let out of Hell, they couldn’t care less about the phrase.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “No, that… that can’t… it’s gotta affect more of them, Dean. She was bluffing. She was probably just stronger than the others.”  
  
“Not that much,” Dean replied. He picked up a bottle of whiskey he’d brought in with him, and set it on the sink alongside a sewing needle. “She had me...indisposed...for a while, but got overconfident when she thought I’d been weakened. I overpowered her and exorcised the demon, explained what happened to the real Sandy and told her to get the tattoo we got, and came back here.”  
  
Sam looked down. “Well, I’m glad you’re ok, Dean…”  
  
Dean looked at his brother sadly. “I’m sorry, Sam… But it looks like all the demons we’ll be dealing with from now on are… _uncristible_ …”  
  
As hilariously dumb as the word sounded, Sam just nodded, and set about helping Dean stitch up the deeper cuts he couldn’t reach or see well. Neither of them were in much of a joking mood. After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up, a determination in his voice that surprised him considering the circumstances. “We’ll find another way then, Dean. Some other way to track them down and send them back to Hell.”  
  
“You got that right,” Dean agreed. He took a drink from the whiskey bottle while Sam sewed up a gash that ran just under his jawline. “We'll make every single one of the bastards wish they stayed down there.”


	3. The Strange Consultant Surgeon

Dean awoke cold and with an uncomfortable stiffness in his shoulder blades and calves. Figuring it was from having slept too long on his back, he attempted to regain enough groggy consciousness to turn onto his side, or maybe his stomach if the cords from his headphones didn’t tangle too much. He struggled sluggishly for a second to lift his right arm, but it seemed like his sheets, or maybe his headphones, were tangled around his wrist. When he tried to lift his left arm to untangle himself and found it similarly incapacitated, his heart started to beat just a little faster. The more awake he became, the more he realized what was wrong with the whole situation. His music wasn’t playing for one, and in fact he was no longer wearing his headphones. He wasn’t tangled up in the sheets, either, but rather his arms (and after a quick test, his legs too) were strapped down.

His eyes snapped open and he looked down at himself, seeing just a blue hospital sheet covering his body. He felt the thin, itchy material directly on his skin, and that told him he wasn’t wearing any clothes. He also noticed the chill of an additional leather strap that went over his chest and under his arms. He struggled harder at the straps, jerking his limbs as roughly as he could to try and break free, but it was to no avail. Instead, he found himself with sore wrists and ankles in addition to his sore muscles. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself in order to think back to the night before, to see if he could remember what if anything had gotten him into this mess. They hadn’t been on a hunt in a few days. They had been at home in the bunker. He’d just gotten back from a beer run and he’d watched some movie with Sam while they ate dinner, and then he had gone up to his room to clean and do maintenance on some of his weapons. It was a very average evening for the two of them, and he hadn’t noticed anything suspicious at all while he was out. After he finished with that, he had put on some music and laid back in bed. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, and didn’t remember doing so either, but that wasn’t so unusual in and of itself either.

“Oh, it looks like you’re awake now…”

A very familiar, deep voice coming from his left interrupted his thoughts, and he closed his eyes again as he felt an overwhelming sense of relief at hearing it.

“Cas? _Yeah_ , I’m awake. What, were you just sittin’ there or something? Give me a hand here.”

He heard Cas chuckle, but something didn’t sound right. He sounded amused, as if Dean wasn’t currently strapped to some kind of operating table. Dean opened his eyes again, his brows furrowed tightly together, and he turned his head to try and look over at Cas, only to find him not standing where his voice had seemed to have been coming from. He looked quickly over to his right, but no one was there.

“In time, Dean,” Cas spoke from directly behind him.

Dean tilted his head as far back as he was able, trying to get even so much as a glimpse of Cas. Confusion quickly turned to irritation at his calmness. “What the hell’s going on? There something wrong with right now?” he asked, jerking at the hand restraints again.

He suddenly felt the sheet pulled back down to his waist and shortly after a finger on his chest, and he looked down at it, surprised to see a white sleeve instead of the expected beige one. He followed it up and was further surprised to see that it was Cas standing at his side, wearing some kind of white lab coat get-up instead of the usual tan trenchcoat and suit.

Cas began to drag his finger down Dean’s body, taking his time as he did. “Personally I don’t think you need another hand, Dean, but if it’s what you want…”

Dean shivered at his touch, and felt goosebumps rising along the path Cas was tracing. The possibility then occurred to Dean, as he struggled uselessly at the straps and watched Cas trail his finger further down in consideration, that maybe this wasn’t actually a rescue at all.

“Cas-- Cas come on, man. I mean I’ve done some kinky stuff with people before but this…" he joked, pulling at the restraints again, "I mean aren’t you gonna’ at least buy me dinner first?”

Cas stopped just below Dean’s stomach, at the folded over edge of the sheet, and looked at him. He hummed in amusement.

Dean gulped. Between the two of them, he'd always wondered if Cas would be the first to make a move, but he didn't ever think it would be like this. He'd always imagined something... romantic. Meaningful. Not waking up naked and shackled to a table. “Alright look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” he said, easygoing about it, "but we should really take this a little slower."

“You’ve got the wrong idea, Dean,” Cas told him softly, lifting his hand and bringing it over to rest on the side of Dean’s face instead.  
  
Dean blinked at him in surprised confusion. Cas' expression was warm, and Dean was unsure what he meant by saying that while making such a face as he was. He looked around the room for some possible hint, and as far as he could tell, it was empty except for the table he was on.  “Cas, what are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m not sure yet…” Cas replied, his voice trailing thoughtfully as he stroked Dean’s cheek with his thumb.

“Ok, where are we?”

Cas pulled his hand away, smiling as he gestured at the room around them. “In my operating room, of course,” he answered.

“I'm sorry--you're _what_ ?” Dean asked incredulously. He squinted in disbelief. “Your… your _operating room_?!”

“That’s what I said, Dean.” Cas sounded affectionately impatient. He brought his hand to his chin, seemingly studying Dean.

“Since when do you have an _operating room_ , Cas?” Dean shouted, returning the impatience without the affection.

Cas remained silent, and the way his eyes roamed up and down Dean’s body even though he was still partly covered with a sheet, began to make Dean uncomfortable. He wanted to squirm under the scrutiny, unsure of where any of this was really going, but he steeled his expression and tried to look firm instead.

“Cas!”

“My problem is, Dean, that you’re so _beautiful_ already… I don’t know if there’s a way I can further add to it,” Cas mused. The smile on his face grew, and adoration glimmered brightly in his eyes.

Dean felt his heart skip at the words, but the almost pleasant, hopeful feeling didn’t last long as it skipped right into an oncoming sense of dread.

“Cas, what are you talking about?”

“I thoroughly examined you, Dean, while you were unconscious. I considered adding things, or moving them around, but you’re the first person I’ve ever met who I truly, _truly_ think doesn’t actually need any of that,” Cas continued.

Heat rushed into Dean’s cheeks and he blanched. “Wh-- you-- you _examined_ me?! Hey! What do you mean ‘thoroughly’?!”

“But unfortunately, it’s something I have to try and accomplish regardless. Besides, it should be good practice for my attending surgeons,” Cas trailed off, completely ignoring Dean.

Dean pulled harder at the straps holding his arms down. “Hey! Are you listening?! What do you mean by ‘ _adding things_ ’?! What things?! What attending surgeons?!”

As if on cue, Dean heard the sound of a door opening just out of his sight behind him, and the squeaking of metal carts being wheeled across the floor. Two people dressed in light blue surgical gowns came into view, their faces obscured by matching surgical caps and masks. One wheeled a light stand behind his head, and turned it on, blinding him for a moment. He shut his eyes and turned away as they adjusted the lights. He could hear various objects being shuffled around from cart to cart, and things being wheeled around him. When he opened his eyes again, the room was no longer empty, now filled with medical equipment and monitors.

The two surgeons began to attach wires from one of the machines to him at his vital points. One of them dug around in a cooler. “He wanted more hands?” they asked, pulling out a severed hand and holding it up for Cas to see.  
  
“No, I think he was joking,” Cas replied.  
  
Dean jerked around on the table, but the straps held him down firmly. He gave Cas a pleading look. “Cas, please… I don’t know what’s going on, or, or what’s gotten into you, but…" he tried, unable to keep his voice from shaking. “I know you. You wouldn’t do something like this, ok? This isn’t you.”

Cas barked out a laugh, effectively shutting Dean up. He wiped his eye and moved back to Dean’s side. He looked down at Dean, and the cold light contrasted sharply with the warmth on his face and in his voice. “You don’t know me, Dean. Not this me, in any case. None of you ever do. But you’re right. We will get through this, and the result of it will be your preservation. Now, it took quite a lot to bring you here, Dean, so I’d appreciate it if you’d cooperate.”

Dean was speechless as he tried to process what he’d been told. The familiarity of his own words suggested to him that maybe this was a dream, some weird nightmare brought on by memories of that day in the crypt, and being told this wasn’t the same Cas confirmed that it _had_ to be a dream. There was no way in hell any version of Cas was dressing up as a surgeon and playing Operation on people. Dean noticed his breathing had become shallow, so he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nose, exhaling slowly. When his breathing slowed down a little, he tried lifting his arms and legs some more, hoping that maybe he could loosen the restraints. However, the only success he had was in shaking the table he was on.

“Should we put him under, sir?” one of the attendings asked.

Cas placed his hand on Dean’s face again and Dean stilled as Cas started stroking his lips with his thumb. “I’d rather not. If he’s unconscious, I can’t see his eyes or hear his voice. They’re breathtaking when widened in fear, when his pupils contract so I can see more of that brilliant green. And when he screams, his voice vibrates at such a wonderful frequency. But unfortunately we can’t have him moving around so much, even with the restraints in place. ...Perhaps if we lessen the dosage and apply topical anesthetics in addition, we can achieve a happy compromise.”

“Yes sir.”

“Cas…” Dean choked out.

“I know you don’t understand this, Dean, and I’m sorry. But this is for both our benefit. Please try to remain still as my surgeons operate on you.”

He felt a sharp prick in the side of his neck. In only a few seconds, the room began to get hazy and his eyelids grew heavier. He wasn’t quite asleep, but he wasn’t fully awake either. He tried to lift his head, but it felt like it was weighed down with lead. He opened his eyes, but they immediately rolled back and he shut them again.

“Did we use too much…?”

“How much did you…”

The rest of the conversation wasn’t heard as Dean fell unconscious again. Or was he finally waking up? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that his body felt heavy and everything was dark. Occasionally he caught flashes of light, and realized his eyes must be opening, or maybe he was getting glimpses of the dream he’d just had. His neck was stiff. He tried lifting his arm weakly, but was reminded of where he was and what was happening when the straps dug into his wrists again.

“I think some of it is finally wearing off.”

As Dean remembered the injection, he became aware of a soreness somewhere on the side of his neck where the needle had been stuck. He wanted to rub it, and momentarily forgetting the restraints, he pulled at his arm to move it. A sharp pain jolted through him at the movement, and he gritted his teeth and hissed.  

“Don’t move so much, Dean,” he heard Cas say.

Dean struggled to lift his head up to see what was going on. One of the attending surgeons was using some kind of sanitizer to clean a vertical area up along his chest. It was about the width of their spread hand, and ice cold, and it felt fucking _weird._ The chest restraint had been removed. “What…?” was all he managed to ask, though he was ignored completely.

After the one attending was done, the other appeared at Dean’s side and poured a small amount of an acrid smelling liquid onto a cloth, and began applying it where the first had cleaned. Shortly, the chill of both liquids faded where the second had been applied. A knot started twisting itself in Dean’s stomach. He jerked harder at the restraints, ignoring the pain. His mind raced, thinking of any possible way he might be able to free himself and escape. He watched as one of the attendings passed Cas a scalpel.

“S-stop,” Dean tried.

Cas paused as he leaned over Dean’s chest. “Oh, please do watch,” was his only reply before beginning to cut an incision.

“Stop!” Dean shouted. His breathing came shorter, and he rattled at the straps around his wrists. This caused Cas to frown, pausing once again to look up at Dean.

“Dean, if you move around like that, it increases the likelihood of injury. I don’t have my angelic powers, so I can’t heal you as easily anymore. So please, try and remain still. Feel free to make as much noise as you’d like, however,” he allowed, his eyes softening.

That was it. No matter what the screwed up situation, this was still Cas, and Dean finally had a plan to at least make things difficult for him to continue. He mustered a smirk, widening it a little as Cas drew his eyebrows together in confusion at the unexpected expression. Cas smiled at him.

“We should permanently affix that expression to you, Dean. It’s quite charming.” With that, he leaned back down to resume making the incision.

At that moment, Dean put all his energy into twisting his body to the side. The scalpel detoured from its path, slicing horizontally into his side and he shouted out in pain. Cas looked at him with some alarm.

“Dean, please. You’re making it hard to continue with this. It’s an important procedure,” Cas told him.

Dean stayed silent, taking in a few shallow breaths and bracing himself as Cas moved once more to continue the incision. The moment the blade touched his skin, he twisted again, causing another gash to be made. This time he continued to lurch from side to side for a few moments, making his intention clear to Cas. Cas looked at him sadly.

“Dean…”

“Cas,” Dean said, challenging him. He looked at him with a guarded expression, ignoring the pain still burning in his side. His blood felt almost pleasantly hot in contrast with the coldness of the skin it trickled over. Cas gave a pensive look at the wound and sighed. Dean saw this as another chance to reason with him. “Come on, Cas. You can stop this, right now. Whatever happened to you, whatever you were talking about how you’re not the Cas I know, it doesn't matter--you’re still you alright?” He watched as Cas’ eyes filled with a sorrow that pained him to see, but that also gave him hope. Until he heard the next words Cas spoke.

“No, Dean… I’m not.”

Cas walked stiffly to a nearby supply cart and picked up a syringe. He squirted some of the light pink substance inside of it out, and then flicked it a few times before returning to Dean’s side.

“Cas,” Dean tried again, this time his expression falling into a more pleading one.

Cas ran his free hand through Dean’s hair. “Don’t worry, Dean. You’ll look even more splendid when I’m done with you.”

Dean shut his eyes tightly and sucked in a deep breath, resigning himself as Cas injected him with the liquid.

“I can’t have you squirming around so much though, Dean,” Cas continued, a more cheerful note returning into his voice. “As cute as it may be, it’s a risk to your safety. So I’m going to give another dose of this, smaller than the one my attending gave you, so you don’t fall entirely unconscious this time.”

Dean felt his body become heavier, and the pain from his stomach took on a throbbing sensation. His eyes rolled, but the injection really wasn’t enough for him to pass out from. He felt Cas lift his eyelids further up, probably checking to make sure of it. Nodding curtly in satisfaction, Cas returned to Dean’s side and continued with his incision down Dean’s stomach. Dean couldn’t help the tears that managed to escape despite his attempt at a stoic expression.

* * *

  
Some time had passed, and Dean was starting to feel more of the pressure from the tool Cas was using. It didn’t feel quite the same as the scalpel had when he tried stopping Cas earlier. He’d stopped paying attention to Cas’ actions a while ago, having given up on any chance of escape on his own. However, now a morbid sort of curiosity got the better of him. He tried to see what Cas was doing, his head lifting in a stuttering motion. A small cry escaped his lips as he watched Cas sewing an arm to to his torso. Or to be more accurate, _another_ arm. There were three in total, lined up vertically along the center of his chest and abdomen, with the third and bottom-most arm as the one currently being attached.

Cas looked up at his movement and grinned at him widely. “Do you like them?” he asked, gesturing at the grafted appendages proudly.

Dean wasn’t sure what part of his surely terror-stricken and appalled face suggested to Cas that he liked any of this, at any point. He couldn’t manage a reply. It seemed to him that Cas took this as an approval, as he happily continued, telling Dean the additions he had in store for him. Dean didn’t catch most of it, however, as he had finally passed out from shock.

* * *

  
“Am I doing this procedure right?”

“Where should this go?”

“Very good. Those sutures were well made.”

The sound of conversation between Cas and his attendings woke Dean once again. He groaned. His entire body ached and burned, dull in some places and sharper in others. The chest strap had been fastened again, and he felt the edge of it pushing just slightly against the top-most arm attached to his torso where it had been attached to his own body. He hesitated to open his eyes. He really didn’t want to see what else had been done to him. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t left with that choice, as his groans gave away his consciousness. He felt his left arm being lifted.  
  
“You’re just in time, Dean,” he heard Cas tell him. He felt hands on both sides of his face, turning it from side to side carefully. His right eye was pulled open, and he saw Cas. “I know you’re awake. Open your eyes and take a look at what’s been finished. Tell me what you think.”

Dean squeezed his eyes further shut. This earned him a heavy sigh.

“Very well, we’ll simply continue until we’re finished."

Dean tried pulling his arm out of the grasp of whoever was holding it, but he was too weak. His waist and legs itched and felt scratchy, and he couldn’t help the slight twitch of his feet, trying to move despite the restraints on them. He was debating to himself if he should look at the cause or not when his thoughts were interrupted by a question he found disturbing from one of the attendings.

“Do you want us to remove it?”

He felt his arm being jostled in conjunction with what was asked, and he snapped his eyes open and looked sharply over at the attending who was holding it. Cas was standing just past them, near Dean’s legs, appearing to be considering the idea with his head tilted down and his hand on his chin. Though Dean was actively avoiding looking at his body, he caught a vague mess of black out of the corner of his eye where his legs were. Still, he fought the temptation to look. He kept his eyes glued to Cas and tried to pull a little harder on his arm instead, but it was of no use.

“Hmm… no… I don’t think we need to with him,” Cas answered. He noticed Dean watching them and smiled at him before regarding the attending again. “We’ll make it match his right arm instead.”

At that, Dean reflexively turned to look at his right arm, and his gag reflex was quick to let him know it was a mistake to do so. Just past the three arms still protruding from his middle, he spotted his right arm seemingly looking back at him with several dozen unseeing eyes dotting his arm’s entire length. Dean’s own eyes widened.

“Ah, there we go,” Cas sighed happily. “That’s something I’ve been waiting so long to see.”

Dean was turning his head to look back at Cas, but the mess of black was caught in his vision again. This time, unable to keep his eyes averted, he looked down at his waist and legs. He let out a choked noise at the sight of two large, black, feathery wings attached at his hips and crossing to wrap around him. He looked at the ceiling again, trying to control his breathing, panic racing through his thoughts and across his face.

“It was something of a problem finding wings large enough to look good on you, but fortunately condors can be quite large, so--”

“You’re sick,” Dean finally managed to get out, interrupting Cas, keeping his sights straight above himself. He didn’t want to see the demeanor that undoubtedly matched the enthusiasm he heard in Cas’ voice.

Cas faltered. “I’m sorry… I should have taken your earlier requests into consideration…” he said.

Hope rose in Dean’s chest again. He drew in a breath and looked at Cas, who was trailing a hand along Dean’s leg where it wasn’t covered by feathers. Dean thought he saw regret on Cas’ face, so he opened his mouth to tell him that he agreed. To tell him to somehow undo all this and let him go. Everything he’d been telling him until he’d stopped trying. But Cas beat him to the punch.

“I’ll add more hands first, then, before we proceed with your left arm. Where would you like them?”

Dean didn’t know if he should laugh or cry or scream at that point, so he did what seemed to satisfy all three to some level.

“Well I don’t think you’d want to know,” he answered coolly, turning his head back to face the ceiling with as much dignity as he could muster, given the circumstance.

Cas chuckled. “I always appreciate your sense of humor Dean, but it would be more helpful if you’d tell me.”

Dean ignored him. All he wanted to do was wake up from this nightmare. He idly wondered if a djinn had gotten to him.

“What about above the waist, just above the wings?” Cas suggested.

Chills ran through Dean’s body as Cas placed both of his hands on either side of Dean’s hips, and pressing lightly, moved them towards his front. On top of that, the places where the wings had been attached were still sore, and a fresh ache bloomed at each spot Cas pressed down. Dean figured he must be planning out where each one would go. The attending holding his arm finally placed it back down, but before they could strap it down again he lifted it to grab ahold of Cas’ arm. He weakly pulled it further up his body, wincing as it knocked into one of the arms, causing it to pull at the stitches. Cas just watched him curiously.

“Why?” Dean asked. His hand slid down Cas’ arm as he pulled it, first to his wrist, then to his hand.

“It would balance out where--”

“No, _why_?” Dean asked again. He was tired and his voice showed it. “Why are you doing this?”

Cas looked confused for a moment. He scrunched his eyebrows together in a way that was so familiar to Dean even if what he was doing was entirely outside of the Cas he knew. “I’ve...already told you, Dean… I’m making you more--”

“No-- _why_?” Dean interrupted. “What could have possibly happened to you to make you this way?” He squeezed Cas’ hand, not fully intending to, and he couldn’t help the blush that formed at the action. He wanted to let go of Cas’ hand because of it, but Cas was already curling his hand around Dean’s in return. Cas smiled again at Dean, but unlike before, there was something melancholic about it. They stayed like that for what felt like a few minutes, before Cas looked away, placing Dean’s hand down gently and patting it before stepping to the side. He turned to one of his attendings.

“Restrain his arm again for now. Administer more anesthetic, around his waist primarily.”

As the attendings moved about following Cas’ instructions, Dean felt the last ounce of hope withering inside him. He didn’t struggle while they worked, layering what amounted to about eleven hands around his waist. Apart from medical questions and their replies, the work was done quietly, for how long he didn’t know. Once they finished adding the extra hands, they unstrapped his left arm again to start adding the eyes to match his right arm. Dean didn’t try to pull away from them this time. He stared blankly as they cut at his skin to make room for the eyes, folding it around them and sewing it to hold them in place. After that they did something similar to his legs, though without craning his head he wasn't able to see in what arrangement. Then after that, they began to attach another broad pair of wings to his sides, just above where the line of hands began. One of the attendings hadn’t numbed the site properly and he cried out as he felt the scalpel slicing through skin still sore from the surgeries done around it. He heard Cas hum in enjoyment before he started to feel dizzy again. He barely noticed the anesthetic being applied once more, as he blacked out.

* * *

  
At some point, he felt himself being lifted into a sitting position, and he suddenly became nauseous. He lurched forward and to the side, and pairs of hands hurriedly held him and kept him from falling off the table as he threw up. His face was wiped clean. He felt dizzy again, but didn’t completely pass out. After a few moments he felt prodding along his back.

“We’re almost done, Dean, and then you can get some rest. We’ll work on making all of the additions functional in a few hours.”

Dean’s vision was hazy, but he watched as the two attendings carried the containers of eyes and other assorted limbs and appendages, human and not. Cas came around to the front of him and tilted his chin up. Blood was spattered across his lab coat and small amounts were splashed on his face and hands.

“I thank you for your cooperation so far, Dean, but we’re going to have to put you under again. We can’t risk any unpredicted movement while we work near your spine, or with your nervous system” Cas told him in a professional voice that didn’t suit how gently he was holding Dean's chin. Dean didn’t respond as he was injected with the same anesthetic from before. Cas let go of him, but he kept his head raised, staring at Cas until his vision darkened and he couldn’t keep his head up anymore. Then he stared at the floor in front of him until he was unconscious again.

* * *

  
“You don’t under…”

“I _need_ …”

Dean stirred at the sound of Cas arguing with someone. The sentences were fragmented as he faded in and out of consciousness, and he couldn’t hear what the other person was saying or who it might be. Things were twitching all over him, sending small spasms through his body. He felt a cool breeze along his legs as something soft and weighty fell onto them.

“We’re almost done!”

Something was moving around on Dean’s back, and he felt unsettled, but too exhausted to do or think much about it.

“Please… this is... “

“...has to be done…”

“...fixing him now…”

“...keep him safe from _her_ …”

“...what you’re doing is…”

“...magnificent…”

“I’m taking him…”

Dean listened to the broken up conversation, trying to stay awake enough to put together what was going on. He could still only hear Cas' side, hear the frustration and desperation and challenge in his words, so he tried looking up to see who he was talking to. His vision immediately blurred and the movement was dizzying, and he looked back down again. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and Cas’ voice was right next to him, clearer than it had been before.

“...Very well…” he said, bitter and resigned. He was spitting out the words. “...You can have him.”

Dean’s vision was starting to improve. He saw the arms writhing along his stomach and chest, saw dark feathers come up just under his nose and fall back down again. He tried to lift his head again, but a hand was on his forehead gently pushing it back down. Everything went black.

* * *

  
Dean jolted up, breathing heavily. Panicked, he looked down at himself, patting everywhere he could reach to make sure nothing was where it shouldn’t be. With that confirmation, he scanned the room around him. It was dark, but warm, and soft. He was in his own bed. The memories of being in that cold operating room flooded back to him and he took a steadying breath. He reached to the side of his bed blindly, until he found the lamp and turned it on. Nothing in his room had changed. His headphones had fallen off of him, and were on the bed between him and the end table.

A knock at his door startled him.

“Dean…?”

It was Cas. For a moment, Dean was apprehensive, remembering the Cas from his messed up dream. Everything had felt so real. But it hadn’t been. Guilt mixed in with fear, overshadowing it but not erasing it.

“C-cas…?” Dean coughed as he answered. Maybe it’d all been some pre-fever nightmare.

The door opened just a little, and he saw Cas’ head peek through.

“Are you alright?”

Dean coughed again, and fought down the anxiety he felt, letting instead the growing feelings of relief rise up. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he answered. “I just… I had a pretty nasty dream is all…”

There was a pause, and then the door opened up more and Cas stepped through. “You sound like you may be coming down with something. I’ll help you,” he said. He moved towards Dean and extended his hand out to touch him, and Dean couldn’t help but flinch.

“No! No, I mean… I’m alright. You don’t need to do anything, Cas,” Dean told him.

The guilt increased as he saw Cas recoil, pulling his hand back fast and up to his chest. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said, looking down. “You’ve… been out for quite some time. Sam was starting to worry, as was I…”

Dean closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. When he opened them, he looked directly at Cas, standing awkwardly a few feet from him. He wasn’t about to let some dream get the better of him. He let out his breath and patted a spot on the bed next to him, bringing his legs in to make room. His joints felt stiff and he rubbed at his knees. Cas hesitantly moved to his bed and took a seat. Dean gestured at himself. “Go ahead then,” he said.

Cas reached forward and placed his hand on his forehead. Dean remembered the feeling in his dream but shook it off.

“You did have a mild infection,” Cas informed him after pulling his hand away. “I’ve cleared it up.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

They sat together in awkward silence for a few minutes. Cas opened his mouth to say something, but chose not to, and instead stayed quiet. Dean wanted to ask, but he was afraid Cas would ask him about his dream. There was no way he was telling any of that to him. He didn’t think there was any need to.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Cas said instead.

Dean thought it was an odd statement to make over something like an infection, even if he’d slept a couple hours longer than usual. Or, he assumed it was a couple hours.

“Was I out that long?” he asked, laughing lightly to ease the mood.

“For almost an entire day,” Cas answered, still not meeting Dean’s eyes.

That bothered Dean. Not just the fact a “mild infection” had somehow knocked him out a whole day, but that Cas was avoiding looking at him.

“Cas?” Dean asked. “Everything alright with you?”

A small smile pulled at Cas’ lips, and he finally looked at Dean, which put the unease growing in Dean’s mind to rest. Dean smiled in return.

“You would ask after my well-being,” Cas told him. He looked back down again and Dean frowned.

“Well of course I would, Cas,” Dean said, feeling a little dumbfounded now. None of this was making a whole lot of sense to him. “I mean thanks for the concern and all but you said yourself it was just some mild infection, even if I slept through a whole day because of it.”

Cas looked back up and stared at Dean a few moments, and then put a hand on his shoulder. “You must be hungry after everything, or-- after having been ill all day. Let’s go to the kitchen so you can get something to eat,” he said.

The tone bothered Dean too, but a well-timed grumble from his stomach kept him from arguing. He was starving. Apparently the infection had really taken it out of him. “I’m game with that,” he told Cas. He moved to get out of the bed, when he noticed a small, dark red stain just along the cuff of Cas’ coat sleeve where his hand was on Dean’s shoulder. “Cas? What’s that?” he asked, taking Cas’ hand and pulling it closer to examine the stained cuff.

Cas pulled his hand back. “It’s nothing,” he answered. “I helped Sam with a case earlier, and I must have accidentally gotten something on me.”

Dean eyed him suspiciously, but decided he’d put it to the side for now as another groan sounded from his empty stomach. “Oh… Well, glad you two were able to handle it without me,” he said. He shot Cas another smile, still not liking the tension that had come out of nowhere. He was relieved when Cas smiled back. “Let’s go get us some food then.”

Cas followed Dean off the bed and out of his room. Dean felt a sense of happiness come over him, along with feelings of safety. This was the Cas he knew, what he’d managed to hold onto even during the worst parts of his dream. He slowed down to walk next to Cas rather than in front, and smiled at him. Cas smiled in return but looked away again. Hoping to ease Cas' worry, Dean put his arm on his shoulder as they walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. He remembered his misunderstanding at the start of his dream about the direction it would go in, and he thought that maybe he could make something good out of it, out of that part at least. They could get some food together, maybe he could convince Cas to stay for a movie... it could be like a date. Then maybe he could have some better material for his dreams to play with. When Cas put his arm around Dean's shoulders, Dean knew they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is of course for [spncoldesthits](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/166433439125/mayalaen-forbidden-titles-spncoldesthits)! A quick note: Though the publication date for the third chapter is set for a different day than the first two, all chapters are being posted at once. I'm not used to submitting these so early. Usually it's like at 2:00 in the morning after asking if it's ok to submit it late. ~~Though watch I'll get busy or distracted and it'll be posted later tonight after all.~~ WELL I managed to post it during the day, surprising me a lot, but this is the silver lining I guess for having finished writing before the 15th even if I'm only just now posting on the 18th. 
> 
> 1\. Seeping Baby Man:  
> I mean... I know it's not the most creative interpretation of this title... but I felt like I had to do this. 
> 
> 2\. Uncristible:  
> This was a given with this title. I mean--now that you've seen it's spncoldesthits, I'm sure you'll go check out the collection of other fics this month and you'll surely see that someone had posted a story with the same title and probably the same idea and doesn't that make you so mad that I probably copied off of them?* You probably shouldn't encourage that by leaving any kudos here. Just saying. 
> 
> 3\. The Strange Consultant Surgeon  
> Ahaha I felt so bad writing this third fic though. I am the not good at writing dark fic. I changed a few things and was nervous about it because it's badly written and I have no idea how to write these kinds of fics, and also I've never had to use any "non-con" tags before. Thankfully, [omgbubblesomg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg) was kind of enough to offer to beta read it for me and give advice on tagging. She was so helpful lol, and I greatly appreciate it. This also probably helps benefit her in this particular challenge but ah well. :P That's a link to her AO3, but check out her tumblr [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> *All of you look away for a second, ok? Or just go on and read the other fics in the collection for this month and make sure to leave them the kudos they deserve. ...Are you looking at the other fics now? Yeah? Good. 
> 
> Now that they've gone:  
> For the record, Grey (and anyone else who might have submitted a similar fic with that title), there was no copying of anything. We all just wrote similar stuff and honestly with a title like that, who can blame us? :P I figured I might as well turn it to my advantage somehow though. Also by the way if any of the readers are still reading this like I specifically asked you all NOT to... then please disregard this part. I most definitely copied off of everyone and you should give all your kudos to them instead, and maybe suggest their fics to all of your friends and family and neighbors.


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